Awake
by noctuua
Summary: Hannibal AU!The Fall. Will swallows, feeling returning to his lips and the buzzing in his fingers dissipating. The thrumming in his head stops and the rest of the patrons melt away leaving only him and Hannibal. He sees, sees everything with new eyes. Will Graham is awake. Warning for suggestions of underage. Hannibal/Will.


_A/N: I just finished binge-watching all of The Fall and I'm constantly getting AU ideas for Hannibal/Will, so this is based off of the interactions between Katie Benedetto and Paul/Peter Spector. Obviously their relationship is slightly different. Warning for suggestions of underage (Will is 16 and Hannibal is whatever age you want him to be, I suppose). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The ice melts beneath the boy's fingertips, its biting chill turning to a trickling warmth. The steady thrum of an acoustic guitar drifts through his headphones and the lonely notes send shivers up his spine.

A low rumble brings Will out of his daze, reminding him why he's got his arm shoved into the freezer. Fingers curling around an ice pop, he pulls one from the box and closes the refrigerator door. The curly headed boy pauses at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway, a man and woman wait behind her.

"These detectives are here to have a word with you, William."

He follows them into the dining room.

* * *

The phone rings three times before a voice hoarse from disuse answers the other end; Will counts the seconds with bated breath.

"Hello?"

"The police were here, Hannibal."

"Where are you, William? What did they want?" The man's tone uncharacteristically brusque. It causes a fluttering sense of unease to settle in the pit of Will's stomach.

"They had some questions about you. But if you want to know exactly what they asked you have to meet me, Dr. Lecter."

"Where?"

Will pauses for a moment. "Lucrezia's at 6," he says, hanging up before Hannibal can refuse.

He gets there early, the intensity of the flutter increasing tenfold. Choosing a table easy to spot from the door, Will orders a glass of wine to calm his nerves. Having not eaten beforehand, the familiar, tingling warmth of the Merlot trickles over him from head to toe.

It's hard to contain the excitement that blooms in his chest when Hannibal steps through the door. Will brings the glass to his lips to veil his glowing cheeks and widening smile.

"What did the detectives want, William?" Hannibal asks before he's properly sat.

A quite endearing furrow sets in the boy's brow and he places his glass down on the table.

"That's not much of a greeting, Dr. Lecter," he says with a pout, frowning at the older man. Hannibal sighs in exasperation and shrugs off his coat.

"I apologize, Will. I do hope you're well, but I must know what it was the police wanted from you."

"They asked about when we first met, how I house sit for you. They wanted to know if you've ever acted strange or made any advances towards me."

The doctor's shoulders tense and he leans forward, arms bent and resting on the table.

"And what did you tell them?"

Will smirks, sipping at his wine and examining Hannibal's handsome features with leisure.

"I told them exactly what you'd want me to."

"And that is?"

The curly haired boy laughs and rolls his eyes, the alcohol creating a dull buzz in his fingers and a pleasant numbness in his lips.

"That you have never and would never, of course! Do you really think I'd tell them about that time in your study when—"

Hannibal shoots him a warning glance as a waiter appears with a plate of pasta and places it in front of Will. The young man's eyes trail greedily over Will's strong jawline and down the smooth skin of his neck. He peers down the slight opening in the boy's shirt where the buttons have come undone. Hannibal clears his throat and tracks the waiter's hasty retreat; he wonders if he'd make as good a meal as the ones served here.

"You're a foolish boy," Hannibal murmurs, his eyes following the fork held in Will's grasp as it spears a tortellini. Gazing at the man through thick lashes, the young brunette wraps his lips around the head of the fork. He pulls it out at an unhurried pace, the steel prongs dragging over delicate skin leaving red indents in their wake.

Will's cheeks flush at the intensity with which Hannibal watches him. The corners of his mouth pull down once he's finished chewing. Dark eyes stare at the bob of Will's Adam's apple as he swallows.

"I'm not a boy," he snaps.

"Oh?" The amusement in Hannibal's tone makes Will's hackles rise.

"'Boy' implies that I'm a child. I'm not a child; I turned 16 last month."

"Fine, fine," the man simpers, his head bowing and hands coming up in surrender. "But you're still foolish."

Reaching into his pocket, Hannibal takes out his wallet and places some notes on the table. He begins to stand from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Will allows his voice to raise, the couple at the table over turning to look at them.

Hannibal frowns at Will.

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. I gave you what you wanted, now I deserve some answers. Quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter."

The man's jaw clicks in annoyance, but he takes his seat once more and rests his hands on the table top, fingers laced.

"What do you want to know?" He asks.

"Everything."

* * *

"Do you understand now, William?" Hannibal watches the beautiful boy whose eyes have widened in awe over the course of their conversation.

Will swallows, feeling returning to his lips and the buzzing in his fingers dissipating. The thrumming in his head stops and the rest of the patrons melt away leaving only him and Hannibal. He sees, sees everything with new eyes. Will Graham is awake.

"I do," he whispers. "I understand you."

Without thinking, he places his hands over Hannibal's, grasping them in his own.

"I want to help. Please, tell me how I can help you."

The older man smiles at his eagerness, glancing towards the other diners and retracting his hands. This is not the time, nor the place for that.

"Listen carefully," he says, the depth of his voice sending sparks down the nape of Will's neck and across his shoulders. The doctor places a hotel key and a stack of notes in Will's soft palm.

* * *

_HLecter has signed on._

Will pulls his bed sheets up to below his collar bone, sinking back into the pillows before calling Hannibal.

"This is kind of kinky, Dr. Lecter," he purrs, taking in the sight of the man lounging on his hotel bed, a silken robe draped around his body.

Seeing Hannibal out of his usual formal attire is quite a pleasure for Will. He finds himself hoping he's the only one that will ever bear witness to this miraculous spectacle.

"I did what you wanted," he says when he realizes he's been staring. The pixels of the computer screen do a great injustice to the doctor's chiseled features. "I see you've found a new hotel room."

"I have, thank you, William. I appreciate your help." Hannibal brings an arm up to cradle his head against the headboard. Will finds the new angle quite attractive and begins to imagine other scenarios in which he'd be looking up at the older man.

"You're a good boy, William."

"So what's my reward, then?" He tries not to sound overexcited.

Hannibal's lips pull up into a smirk. "What do you want?"

The boy draws his bottom lip between his teeth as if second-guessing his request. Moments later, his expression hardens into one of determination.

"What are you wearing?"

The man's smirk stretches into a lazy grin.

"Nothing," he replies.

Will shifts and lets the sheets slip down to his hips; on the other side of the screen, he hears Hannibal's sharp inhale.

"Prove it."

Sliding off his shoulders, the silk whispers over the doctor's unblemished skin. The loose sash around his waist comes undone and Will's breathing becomes labored. Defined clavicles and strong biceps come into view, followed by a light smattering of hair and a toned abdomen.

"Go on," Will breathes.

* * *

_HLecter has signed on._

Will tries to be patient, but his annoyance overwhelms him and he hits the video button.

"Good evening, Will." The man's mollifying voice drifts through the computer speakers. Their effect on Will is instant and it grates on his nerves even more, the effect that Hannibal has on him.

"Why didn't you call me sooner, Dr. Lecter?"

"I'm sorry, William. I've been quite busy."

He tries hard not to pout, tucking his chin so his unruly dark curls mask his face. He allows an aching silence to settle between them. His heart feels as if it's about to burst, the seams groaning and stretching. Will sighs.

"I missed you."

"Did you?"

"Yes," he responds, looking up through his curls.

"Did it hurt?"

"I can't stop thinking about you, every minute of every day." He averts his eyes from the screen, picks at the skin on his arm.

"Did it hurt, William?"

There's a pregnant pause.

"Yes."

"Good," Hannibal hums.

Will's eyebrows draw inward, his neck straightening so he can stare at Hannibal.

"Does that bring you pleasure? My pain?"

The man's eyes shine with mirth. He clears his throat.

"Other people's pain brings me pleasure, yes. But yours especially so."

"Don't say that, Hannibal." The young brunette can't stop the hurt that leaks into his voice.

"But it's true, my dear Will."

He doesn't respond and the good doctor allows him a moment to brood.

"I need you to do something else for me, William," he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Will leans forward, cheeks flushing in anticipation.

"Anything, Hannibal. I'd do anything for you."

"It's time for the next step."

The corner of Will's mouth curls, eagerness sparkling bright in his eyes. He shifts onto his knees and begins to untie the knot of his pajama bottoms.

Hannibal smiles, bringing his hand up to stop Will and shaking his head.

"Not that, Will. Not yet, now isn't the time."

"When?"

"Soon," he whispers.

"Tell me what you want me to do."

* * *

"Hello, Mrs. Crawford." The curly haired boy feels awkward standing on the front steps of the Crawford's porch. He extends his arms towards the woman, cradling the large bouquet of lilies.

"My mom had an extra shipment of these to her shop this morning and wanted you to have them. She'd have stopped by herself but she had to take care of some large orders," Will explains, a saccharine smile in place.

"Goodness, thank you, William. These are quite magnificent; they've got such an elegance to them. Would you like to come in?" She opens the door wider.

Taking a tentative step forward, Will blushes.

"Thank you, Mrs. Crawford."

She swats him on the shoulder.

"Please, you make me sound like an old maid. Call me Bella."

"Alright," Will says, closing the door behind him. "Thank you, Bella."

* * *

"Hannibal?"

"Yes, William?"

"Did you cancel the catering?"

"I did."

* * *

Over the next few days, Will jogs past the Crawford's in the morning and the evening. He slows his pace as the large, gray Victorian comes into view.

On the third morning, Bella Crawford stops him.

"William!"

"Oh, good morning, Mrs. Crawf—Bella," he stammers, coming to a stop on the edge of their lawn.

"I'm sorry this is on such late notice, but I remember you saying you and your friends were trying to make some money for a trip. The catering company we hired for our dinner tomorrow night had a mix up and canceled our reservation. I was thinking you and your friends might like to earn some money helping out?" She pauses, looking for some sort of reaction from the Graham boy. He widens his eyes in surprise.

"Of course, Mrs. Crawford, we'd love to!"

"Fantastic, Will, you're a knight in shining armor!" She exclaims. Asking him to wait one moment, Bella runs inside to grab her purse, fishing a business card and a slip of paper out of her wallet.

"This is my friend's restaurant. If you go and tell her I sent you, there shouldn't be any problems. Here's a list of the food we planned on serving."

Will nods in acquiescence, pocketing the card and the list.

"Thank you so much, Bella. I'll let my friends know right away," he says, grinning at the woman.

"No, thank you, Will! Will you be all right with transportation?" She asks with concern.

"Oh, no, no. We'll be fine," he assures.

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

* * *

Hannibal listens patiently to the ringing on the other end of the line.

"Jack Crawford."

"Hello, Jack. Did you enjoy your dinner party?"

"Who is this?" Comes the gruff response.

"It's rude to ignore one's question. Did you enjoy your dinner party?"

"Hannibal? Is that you, Dr. Lecter?"

"I pray you were able to keep your guests entertained. I heard the hors d'oeuvres were exquisite." The smile on Lecter's face translates through his voice. A slight pause follows.

"What are you getting at?"

"The hors d'oeuvres, Jack, I heard they were quite the success. In fact, I was told the food in general garnered a great deal of appraisal."

"I don't know where you got your information, but I don't get the point of this call. Where are you? Are you calling to gloat about the fact that you got away? Is that Chopin playing in the background?"

Hannibal scoffs at the man's attempts. "You won't track me, Jack, I'm not an imbecile."

"So, why are you calling?"

"The food, Jack."

"What about the food, Dr. Lecter?" Crawford growls.

"I just hope you savored it, is all."

"Stop being so damn vague, Lecter. What's your point?"

"You might want to check on that girl of yours, Jack. Your favorite detective—what was her name? Miriam Lass? The one who visited Will."

"What the f—"

"Now, now, no need to be crass, Jack, I've got a minor with me."

"You've got the Graham boy?"

"Has she come into work today?" Hannibal asks.

"Who?" Jack's patience is wearing thin.

"Ms. Lass, Jack. Please, try to pay attention."

"What'd you do to her, you bastard?"

"I just gave her more…purpose in such a banal life," Hannibal replies.

"What did you do, Lecter? Where is she?"

"Jack, really, you're beginning to sound like a broken record. It's quite annoying."

"Where is she?" Jacks hisses.

"Well you won't find her, that's for sure. But you know a tiny piece of her will always be with you—at least, until you're finished digesting. Goodbye, Jack. You won't be hearing from me again."

Sounds of retching carry through the receiver and the doctor brings the phone away from his ear. A look of satisfaction graces his stony features, a micro-smile on his lips. He snaps the phone shut and tosses it through the open window.

"So, where're we going, Hannibal?" Will asks as he fiddles with his seat belt.

"I was thinking someplace warm, William. Did you bring your swimsuit?"

The good doctor places a warm hand on Will's knee, focus still on the road in front of them. Warmth pools in the pit of Will's stomach, the base of his spine tingling with anticipation. He slouches in his seat.

"No," he sighs, expression morose. "But we can get one, can't we?"

"Of course," Hannibal replies.

"I'll even try it on for you. To make sure you like it."

He watches with intent as the doctor's gaze turns to meet his, a look of fondness, desire, and greed. Hannibal takes in the boy's lopsided grin, turning his attention back to the road with reluctance.

Eyes still resting on Hannibal, Will leans his head against the back of his seat. He listens to the rhythmic hum of the dashboard, the steady rush of air as the car speeds forward. Soothing Bach washes over Will and his lids grow heavy with sleep, Hannibal's profile blurring as he tries to stay awake. All grows dark.


End file.
